


Wingless Fly

by Beetlemucus



Category: IT (2017), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Blood and Injury, Bugs & Insects, Crazy Henry Bowers, Creepy Patrick Hockstetter, Gen, Henry is touch starved, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kinda, M/M, Minor Character Death, Patrick Hockstetter is His Own Warning, Touch-Starved, idk if Henry is dying or just kind of being weird, probably dying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:01:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22253110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beetlemucus/pseuds/Beetlemucus
Summary: Henry, who is too weak to do anything besides blink and speak, sees Patrick after he plummets into the depths of the well in the house on Neibolt Street. Patrick coaxes him to let him show him something in his dead state, but Henry doesn’t think he wants to.
Relationships: Henry Bowers & Patrick Hockstetter, Henry Bowers/Patrick Hockstetter
Kudos: 26





	Wingless Fly

**Author's Note:**

> This is crappily written at 2:30 AM!! Enjoy!  
> Comments appreciated!
> 
> Sorry for the abrupt ending I really need to sleep

The water droplets crawled down the sewer walls into the constant, half-full buildup from the grey water that made the Derry sewers, or any sewer for that matter, what it is known for. Moisture clung to the walls as the heat from summer somehow just made the place smell worse. Despite it being dark and underground, the cycle of evaporation made the place feel more wet than what it needed to be. Wherever there was a crack or crevice in the concrete the moisture would fill up the empty spots as if it were looking for shelter. It was nothing but a feeding ground for literal shit that appeared to come alive and move as it so chooses.

Nothing disturbed the resting place of bacteria and germs that few would wretch at, but that was until a boy- by the name of Henry Bowers- took quite the tumble down into the sewer system which inhabited all these vile contributions. He almost didn’t scream, either, for his chest had bumped against the brick exterior of the well too many times to make him swore he broke a rib. It wasn’t like he had the energy to feel against the numbness of shock and adrenaline, however. And the only one he had to thank for landing on his back was God, because despite how painful the fall and landing was his face wasn’t submerged into the grey water; he would have surely drowned, as he didn’t have the energy to keep his head lifted- or rather, afloat- if it had.

The few minutes that passed by, which seemed like hours, made him lightly groan as his senses barely could come back to him. His limbs aches and cracked stiffly as he attempted to move him. The typical “can you wiggle your toes?” from an annoying, womanly voice made him grimace, but nonetheless he did the action to check. His fingers, toes, and a little bit of his arms were okay to move right away. Though, in the comfort of the lukewarm water that surrounded his face, he almost felt comfortable where he was. As the water clung to his mullet strands, and he could of sworn something swam past his head, he relaxed and decided to let the waves of the sewers take him when they were ready. He was in no rush after all.

“Oh my... Such a defenseless... Little fly...” A voice croaked and bounced from somewhere a little ways off. So much for Henry’s death bed, for he was as wide and awake as he could muster at the sound of the dreaded voice whom he couldn’t even recognize. Not a peep escaped his lips, though, nor did he try to open his eyes.   
“What a long fall... Where are your wings, little fly?...” which each consecutive pause the voice seemed to grow a little bit louder and a little more familiar. In the midst of clouded memories and grasping remembrances, it started up again.  
“What melancholy hand strikes you to bleed out so?...”

Henry’s eyes shot open at how close the voice was. It seemed to be hovering in front of him, the voice, and his vision was lightly dancing with blurs. It would be useless if he put his own hand in front of his face, because his eyes hadn’t adjusted to the faint darkness, nor has his head stabilized his vision from knocking his head against the hard surface of the well. Knock on brick would be a better saying in this case.  
What he could make out was a dark mass looming over him which had no definite shape, and from behind this figure was a dawning orange light that nearly casted a spotlight on the both of them as if they were the most important thing the sewer had to offer. In this case, with the exception of one other individual, this was true. “What the... Fuck?...” was all the strength Henry had built up in his chest to nearly puff out. It was agonizing to speak, and he almost heaved at using up his air, but he felt like he had to muster up some dominance against this probably mutated creature someone flushed down their toilet like a forgotten goldfish.

“You bleed... Quite exceptionally...” It nasally grumbled, almost sounding as dead as Henry felt. “It’s turnin’ the grey water to red water...”  
“Well, excuse me... fer fuckin’... bleedin’...” Henry spat back with no bark or any bite. He was just Henry laying in shit with his backbone feeling cracked in half. There was no man left in him, just a will that he was ready to sign off to the nearest, living civilian to his choosing. It wasn’t going to be this towering mass of black.  
“You got all trapped... A spider under a cup... Bug onna’ needle...” It rambled on uselessly as a finger swiped over Henry’s lip, which he hadn’t noticed was busted until just then, “Like a dog inna’ Amana...”  
Squinting still didn’t stabilize his eyesight, but soon red lips turned more nude and he could have sworn a pair of rabbit looking teeth turned into a jagged, yet all-too familiar grin.

“Hockstetter?” Henry wheezed upon the realization, and all it gained was a titter out the newly discovered person. “You...You’re Dead... You...”  
“Ah, ah, ah...” Patrick cooed as his finger gently rested in the middle of Henry’s bruised lips. “...Nothing in Derry ever really dies... yknow?” He asked with no further want in Henry’s own opinion if he recognized the saying or not. The finger trailed down from his lips to his cheek, where he almost drew circles with his gnawed off nail.  
“So, my helpless little fly... What’s changed?” The clicking of a restless tongue gave Bowers the shivers, “go as crazy as the clowns yet, Bowers?”

At this point it was futile to tell if Bowers was listening. Water pooled in his ears anyhow, and him continuously squinting and blinking was enough to tell he wanted to see Patrick first rather than hear the sickening voice of him. And though it took a lot of energy, when Patrick was so close to caressing his cheek his head lifted to almost lean into his hand instinctively. Patrick only drew it back, and his livery lips spread as the yearning and desperate look on Bowers face slowly made itself known. His head fell back into the water with a light ripple.  
“A maggot... Feeding off of others... Needing something else living to survive, a parasite in a non-physical sense...”  
“What’re you on about?” Bowers lightly sneered as his vision slowly but surely grew more clear. As the orange light danced and bounced on Hockstetter’s outer, giving him an exceptionally warm aura, he was able to soon make out the little stretches and gashes in his skin. It hadn’t struck him yet that just under the soft exterior that something was moving.

“You need me, is what I’m on about...” He stretched out his jaw and left it hanging quite agape for a few full seconds before rotating a disk connecting his jaws. It cracked, an unusual sound that reminded Henry of the time Patrick and him bumped into each other at the junkyard. Henry had been letting off some steam from his father giving him a hard time, and Patrick had strolled down there with a cardboard box in his clutches. Henry had asked what was in the box, and not soon after it was revealed it was a cat- A cat Henry had recognized- she belonged to Mrs. Donovan. The rest to Henry was hazy, but he remembered vividly Patrick had asked if he wanted to show him something- and like a dunce he agreed for he had nothing else to do- and in one swift motion the cat yowled a quick one and its neck broke by the meaty hands of Hockstetter.  
Henry was never one phased by death, but even he was surprised enough to shout at Patrick at the time. Hockstetter only tittered, asked him politely not to tell- which Henry reluctantly agreed to- and then disposed of the body in a nearby bush. At times he thought of what it was like for the cat in those moments. Trapped in the grip of psychopath; your life nothing but a simple hook-and-ball game to them as they watch terror flood your eyes as all they do it lick their lips. 

As if being able to read his mind through the water, Patrick tittered and asked in sing-song “Want to see something?”  
Bowers’ already stiff muscles from the cold tensed you even further- and he sworn he got a muscle spasm in at least three areas of his body- as his eyes focused solely on Patrick. No audible reply came, so much like that time at the junkyard while they were twelve Hockstetter took that as a “yes”. Nothing was exchanged as Patrick leaned in closer and closer to Henry’s face. He was close enough to where Henry could feel his hot breath on his face- and it smelt worse than the sewer water he had soon grown accustomed too. He visibly grimaced and lightly turned his head away so the horrid, hot breath wasn’t going directly up his nostrils.

A hand lifted from the contents of the water and it lazily flopped on Patrick’s cheek with a horrible wet noise, and his not-so-careful fingers lightly picked at the skin. It wasn’t long before flesh was being torn off as painlessly as latex to reveal the squishy, puss-lined, red contents underneath. As if Patrick himself were a plastic grocery bag- full of //something//- stuff started to lightly spill in Henry’s face under the now torn skin. At first, Henry thought it was droplets of blood, but when the “blood” trailed up his face somehow he knew that weren’t the case. He lifted his own hand to his face and scooped up a handful, staring into his palm as he saw small shadows wriggle and crawl amongst his fingers.  
Insects of all shapes and sized were spilling onto Bowers from the dead man above. Some were worms, maggots, flies, spiders, and even a centipede were seen crawling on the surface of the battered boy.

A scream, loud and frantic, emitted from the boy as he did his best to shove Patrick away, shake the bugs off- or wash himself in the water-, and crawl away from that area in that order. Most of his plan failed, as once he made the move to kick Hockstetter in the face his torso bunched up to reel his foot back. A burst of pain exploded in his ribs once he took the kick, but all that caused was more shouting.   
Though Hockstetter was knocked back he didn’t seem too affected by this assault, and he just relatively moved away from the boy to watch him squirm like an insect himself. A fly in a spider’s web, wriggling but not able to get anywhere nor escape cause he was simply stuck. 

Now it was nothing but a show of a giggling corpse of Hockstetter, a hectic and yelling Bowers, and soon the sounding of rushing water as Henry would be flooded out soon to the entrance of the man cave- nearly drowned and still screaming-, but he’d be alive to suffer the rest of his days in a mental asylum.


End file.
